Seeking Forgiveness
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: He wonders if she will ever forgive him for the mess he has made of her life. If it's possible for her to understand it was never personal. In the name of salvation, many crimes had to be committed. (Just my attempt to see things through Loghain's eyes) Obligatory spoiler alert for Dragon Age Origins.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: Hi everyone, this is my very first story, so if you'd be kind enough to let me know what you think that'd be awesome :D Also, spoiler alert for if you haven't finished Dragon Age Origins yet. _

_Anyway, i hope you enjoy it._

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He wonders if she will ever forgive him for what he did. For becoming the monster he did. He knows that what he has done has brought the entire country to the brink of destruction for what now seems nothing more than foolish pride. But it's more than that. Because of him her entire family was slaughtered, down to the last child in that blasted keep. He hadn't wanted it, but when he had discovered that it was her family that Howe had targeted, there hadn't been enough time to divert it, or to change his mind. The Couslands were good people, solid dependable nobles who cared for all within their domain. But, he had rationalized, it had been one family in return for an army. An army to face the blight.

It was, he thought, an acceptable loss.

But she'd escaped the destruction of her family, fled south with the grey wardens, taking a place within their ranks. He'd noticed her then as she entered the camp. The unmistakable cousland bone structure in her fine face, the unquenchable fire in her glittering green eyes, the way her copper hair tumbled about her shoulders and set off against her copper armour. Her form was lean and bruised, and despite the losses that haunted her gaze she still maintained a roguish sense of humour. She'd looked half drowned in mud and rain. As she had passed his tent with Duncan, the leader of the grey wardens in this area, he'd caught himself watching her. But once again, he'd put her out of his mind. He may not have liked it, but he had known what would happen next. He knew what would befall the grey wardens in the battle that waited.

Again he'd rationalized it, the death of a few to unite all against the blight.

But again she surprised him, escaping from the battle at Ostagar, pulling with her another new recruit with her from the flames. While her identity had been unknown when he set plans in motion to take care of this problem, he could not help but feel…regret.

To kill someone who had gone through a baptism by fire and blood, who had clawed themselves out of hell only to be tossed back in at Ostagar, just didn't sit right with him. But in war, many things must be done in the name of survival.

But he had underestimated her again. The assassin vanished and reports of her presence continued. Her name was spread in whispers across ferelden. Tales of her exploits continued to reach him. and whilst he found her rebellion annoying, he could help but find some respect for her.

When she came with the Arl of Denerim, he intercepted them. she stood before him once again, this time hardened by the battles she had fought along her road. He found himself surprised and intrigued by this defiance. Sure he had bellowed at her, roared and threatened, and that had cowed many in his way, now it only seemed to brighten those rebellious flames within her eyes.

But even then he had not thought her strong, determined and stubborn perhaps, but not strong.

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_Hi guys, don't fret i'm not finished yet ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note: Thanks for the review :) _

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Then she stood before him in the Landsmeet, that same air of defiance and self-assuredness. She walked with grace that few had attained, and carried herself not with pride but with the knowledge that she could kill.

He acknowledged her then. Not as she deserved perhaps, but enough. he thought he knew how the battle would play out, only one person could walk away from this. only one person survived.

And with all his years of experience behind him, he thought he knew who would win that battle. and while the thought of her death pained him, his cold calculation came back. one life for thousands, one life to save the rest.

But she had been like water, flowing around him, darting beneath the broad reach of his sword. In the camps at Ostagar he'd heard her sparring with comrades, and as quick as her feet had been, her sharp tongue followed, slicing at the enemy as keenly as her blades. But in this battle. she was silent.

And when she drove her knee into the chain of his armour and winded him, he knew he was finished. No longer the young man with endless stamina, he knew she had won.

He yielded, expecting her to drive the points of those lethal daggers into his throat there and then as he lay sprawled on the rich red rug. But again, she surprised him. the hand that should have descended with all the righteous fierce power of vengeance and hate, instead opened in supplication. She offered him her hand, and accepted his surrender.

Then, to the surprise of all, accepted Riordan's proposal to have him join the Grey Wardens. The bastard son of a once great king, the new recruit she had dragged from Ostagar vehemently protested. But she was resolute, she was calm. And she refused to let him die.

Even when the recruit left in a hot fury, his words biting with scorn and hatred at her decision, she showed nothing but calm acceptance on her face.

He had underestimated her, badly. The recruit he had seen at Ostagar, half drowned in rain and buried in mud could not have raised an army. but she had. United all the races and marched on Denerim to take the armies of mankind to war. And when she could have struck her killing blow, she instead offered mercy.

No. this was not a woman that was easily understood. Her true measure defied easy calculation.

An when he drank of the Darkspawn blood, of the joining goblet as countless other wardens had before him, he knew that fate would not be kind and just let him die. instead he would survive, live for as long as he was allowed with the memories of that awful presence in his head, the whispered voices of the chittering darkspawn and the skull cracking pressure of the Arch Demon calling to him.


	3. Chapter 3

As they traveled to war he had expected the companions remarks. Had expected their venom and accepted with little comment. They had a right to believe as they did, even though he had done what he thought must be done to save them all. but She never snarled at him, never snapped, never brought up the fact it had been his fault that her family was dead, that all of Ferelden burned because he had underestimated the Darkspawn.

Instead she offered comfort when he awoke from nightmares of the dragon. she made an effort to see past the cold calm veneer that he had worn for longer than he wanted, to learn why he had acted as he had.

Why? He wondered. Why would she waste her time on him? of all assembled she had one of the most powerful justifications to treat him as an enemy, yet she didn't. she was…civil, amusing. And inch by inch, broke him free of his self imposed silence.

He asked her about her family, once whilst they were sitting watch. Not because he truly wished to hear about them, but because he wanted her to remember why should hate him, why she should have let him die.

Had the roles been reversed he would have thought nothing of discarding her into the flames. and a sickening thought was that he had indeed thought nothing of casting her death.

But instead of tears, instead of the rage or hate he expected, and almost wanted, she gave him a sad smile. What followed was stories about her home, her father and mother, of her nanny and her tutor. She smiled when she spoke of Oren, her little nephew. But she didn't mention their fates. She didn't say how they died, or cast it back in his teeth that it had been his fault. instead she told him wonderful things. Of times when she had been happy. When she had lifted Oren, her nephew, onto her Mabari's broad shoulders and let him pretend to be a knight rescuing her, the fair princess, just to make him smile.

His already bruised heart twisted, he could not undo the mess he had made of her life, but she didn't hate him like she should. And he couldn't understand why.

They shared watches at camp. Partially, he thinks, because he truly believes the other companions would murder him if they got the chance, and partially because she seemed to be the only one willing to spend those quiet, almost endless nights with him.

As they traveled he grew to know more of her. The fear she hid with jokes, the pain she shielded with laughter. The more he learned, the more he found himself wanting to learn.

She had a quiet sort of courage. Whilst brave men shouted at their enemy to show they were not afraid, she simply stood resolute. Whilst she would not shout to show no fear, she would never falter. It had been that kind of courage, that quiet strength of will that had allowed her to gain the allegiance of an army no man had seen before. it had been what allowed her to survive when she should have died.


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors note: Sorry for the short chapter guys, i have an assignment due in a couple days which is taking up most of my time. But fear not, i should have a new one up pretty soon ;) _

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But it was only when Riordan revealed to them both how an arch demon was truly slain did he finally understand her courage. Instead of crying, or gasping or denying, she merely closed her eyes for a moment then answered him, stating that she would take the final blow.

When they were alone he protested, he was a general who had lived his life. who had done such terrible things for which he needed to atone. But she had shaken her head slowly, told him that he had only done what he thought was right, that she would take that final blow herself. Not because she wanted to be a hero. But because she couldn't ask someone else to die for her. but he knew she was frightened. He could feel it exuding from her skin, see it in the tense set of her shoulders and the haunted depths of her eyes.

So when she crept back into his room later that night he listened with an astonished ear. A deal made with the marsh witch could spare the grey wardens their deaths. They could both live. it could save her life and yet she did not command it, she merely asked. And he had accepted, he had already taken enough from her. and this, this was a small enough thing. even if it did make his skin crawl to let that witch touch him.

As he lay in his bed after completing the ritual, he wonders if she will ever forgive him for what he has done. If he will ever forgive himself for destroying her life the way he had.

She is a constant surprise to him, so when she turned up at his door the next morning and hugged him, he shouldn't have been startled. But he was. she held him tightly, light armour pressed against his heavier plate, her red hair a startling contrast to the silver of his chest, she thanked him. he held her back, hands awkwardly resting on the small of her back, the smell of soap and vanilla invading his senses.


	5. Chapter 5

_Authors note: I hope you guys like this :) and thank you for the reviews :)_

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As they marched for Denerim the companions glared at him, but no longer offered barbed comments. She, however, chatted about the upcoming battle, bolstered the soldiers morale with discussions of how mighty a force they had gathered. But he knew she only said such things in their presence. At camp, when she knew they were not watching, she would lean her head against his shoulder and sigh, keeping watch together as they always did.

When they finally engage in the battle, when they finally confront the armies of darkspawn they had been raised to fight, she is a thing to see. She dances around the darkspawn to a violent melody only she can hear. Her blades flashing like liquid silver as she darts through their ranks. She seems to have an unnatural kind of luck, fireballs that should have incinerated her go glancing past, or she spins an enemy into it's range instead. On the rare occasions she gets overwhelmed he is there, shield and sword, carving her a bloody path to freedom. Failing that her golem, Shale, simply walks to her and carries her from danger. Anything thick enough to try and remain in front of the golem was reduced to a crumpled stain on the blood soaked earth.

It is only when she prepares for that final blow on the stunned dragon that he realises that even though he had submitted to the vile ritual, there was still a chance that it would not work. and he couldn't let her risk it. not after everything he had taken from her, not when there was another option.

He grabbed her bloodstained arm, the leather of her armour singed away by a near miss with the arch demons flame, stared into those expressive weary eyes and kissed her, lightly. It wasn't a thing of lust, but he wanted to thank her for everything, should the demon drag him to hell with it. Her eyes were wide as he pulled back, "I'm sorry." his voice is soft, barely audible above the sounds of battle still echoing from below. Wynne's shock voiced in the air. but he paid none of it heed.

As was her title, with the Cousland woman everything was grey and confusing. But Killing the Archdemon? That was refreshingly black and white.

The great sword fit his hands like an old friend, though he had never wielded it before. his armor rang as his footsteps pounded against the cobblestones. The Archdemon roared, lifting it's massive head and thrusting it forward in hopes of catching him with it's teeth. But he ducked it, sliding across the blood soaked ground and dragging his blade along the length of it's neck. it collapsed as he got back to his feet, the roar silenced.

It wasn't quite dead yet, that much even a new warden could tell. He glanced up at her, watching Shale hold her back, Wynne beside her watching. he met her eyes and lifted the blade, a triumphant bellow leaving his lips as he plunged the blade through flesh and bone and brain. as it passed through he felt a curious whisper, a shadow of a touch caress his skin before seeking something else. a great blinding light emerged, moving through the blade and filling him up before shooting to the sky with an earth shaking pulse. He flew backwards, hands slipping free of the blade and slammed into the stone walls of Fort Drakon, hearing her voice call out his name.

As all crashed down into darkness he wondered, not of Anora, not of Ferelden. Not even of impending Orlesian tricks. All of the things that had seemed so very important when he was blundering about trying to save everyone, was suddenly gone. Instead he wondered if he deserved to be forgiven for his actions. For the lives he had ruined. He wasn't much of a believer in the maker, reality had been a harsh taskmaster far too often for belief to flourish. But right now, on the wisp of thought that was the entirety of his fading mind, he prayed. Not for himself, not for a happy ending. But that he had made things right before he died.

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_Don't fret! i'm not finished yet ;) _


	6. Chapter 6

_Authors note: I'm so sorry about the delay. that assignment took longer than i thought it would but i'm hoping to make it up to you ;) Please enjoy_

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How long he stayed there in that darkness he wasn't sure. Occasionally a thrum of energy would go through him, a desperate voice would call his name. but he was content here in this darkness. there was no pain here, no fear. No sense of overwhelming panic as the world crumbled around him. he had no reason to return now, nothing to call him back.

The marsh witches face flashes through his mind briefly, and she gives him that smile he grew to loathe in their short time together. That smug, cruel smile that carried every hint of sarcasm physically possible. her voice, like vipers rustling over dry ground spoke, and it echoed in the vaults of that darkness, "You owe her Loghain. You ruined her life. You aren't allowed to die just yet. You have to make amends."

Magic slammed into him with all the force of a charging ogre, pushing a grunt form his lips and his limbs to lock into a fierce rictus of pain. But with that sharp spike of sensation he becomes aware of the world around him. of the smell of blood and vanilla and faint soap close by. Of the cold stone and colder heavy plate that weighed on him. the taint was still there, thick in his veins, a whisper and shadow in the back of his mind. but the Arch Demon was dead, it's roar finally silenced.

"Wynne! Heal him!"

Her voice rings out, a staccato of sharp notes that gave the impression she expected to be obeyed. Instead of the outraged fight that he expected, the old mage acquiesced and he felt a gentle warmth flowing through him like honey. it smoothed languorously over his ribs and head, soothing the pain as it went.

As his eyes opened he was graced with her face, it stared down at him, worry and shock turning to relief as he met her gaze. Instead of a caustic comment, or even a question regarding his blatant disregard for her commands, she simply smiled at him, "maker's breath Loghain. First rule of battle, never fight without a damn helmet."

And with that bit of wisdom dispensed, she starts to laugh. he cannot help but join her as Wynne's face becomes scandalized.


	7. Chapter 7

_Authors note: I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far ;)_

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He wonders if she will ever forgive him.

And it is only days later, when they have recovered from the battle, that he finally musters the courage to ask her why she does not hate him as she should.

He dislikes having to ask, feels it makes him look weak and unsure, very much unlike the hardened veteran he fought to be. Even more so dressed in the simple linen shirt and pants that would normally go beneath his armour. But as she stood there, a bright light in the grey stone of her room at the castle, he decides his desire to know outweighs his discomfort.

Her response to his question is to smile and lean against her oak bedframe, "I wondered if you would ask me. If you even cared to ask."

He gives a slight shrug, indicating that she should continue. She obliges, "Revenge…Hate. It's a sickness. If I let it in me, if I let what happened that night create hate inside me, then I would lose who I am. I hated Howe and I killed him. and if I had realised at ostagar that it had been your doing then I'd have hated you. but now that I've had my revenge, hate is bitter, like ashes in my mouth. I don't want it anymore. Then we started talking, I started to understand."

She shifts slightly, and he is suddenly very aware of her form, of the way the simple white dress clings to her skin, the sharp contrast of this paleness with the vibrant red hair that tumbles about her shoulders. He hadn't realised it before in his desperation to know the answer, but he had obviously caught her just before bed.

She lets out a sigh, "you didn't hate me. didn't even really know me. and I doubt you know who it was that Howe would slaughter. But I think you reasoned it, one family to have the army to fight the blight. That was not a high price to pay. You did the same at Ostagar, one king, some grey wardens, a few hundred soldiers, again not high prices to pay in order to have the strength to defend Ferelden"

To hear his own reasoning drop from her lips shocks him, so much so that he forgets to control his face and shows her his surprise. A glint of amusement in her eyes lets him know she saw it, and she answers his unspoken question, "I'm very good at reading people. As the daughter of a Teryn I had to be. I needed to know who was sincere and who was trying to use me, who was telling me truth and who was telling me what I wanted to hear. It was vital to learn such things. My father taught me tactics as a child, raising me to eventually take command of Highever in the event that Fergus fell."

He is able to regain control, making his expression blank once more, and merely nods his head once in acknowledgement.

She pushes away from the bed frame and walks towards him, her steps light and measured, the simple dress flowing about her as she did. she stops a few inches away, staring up at him with a strange kind of intensity in her gaze.

"You want my forgiveness?" she questions, "Why haven't you asked for it?"

It is shame he feels, shame at being read so easily, at his role in her life. He cannot meet her gaze and turns his head away, silently answering her question. the reason is simple, he doesn't feel like he deserves it. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven.

Suddenly her hand is on his cheek, gently turning him back to her, bringing his gaze back down to hers. He is older than her, but not so old as to be immune to the warmth and life in her eyes. and he has been cold for a very long time, ever since his wife had died.

"When I first met you Loghain, I admired you. You were everything the king should have been. When you betrayed us at Ostagar I wanted to hate you. But I saw what it was, ruthless tactics. And while the plans weren't spectacular knowing what we know now, I couldn't fault you for them. but I couldn't just leave it to you. I had to gather my own army. I had to make you understand that the only way to win was to unite Ferelden into one army, one force."

Her eyes burn brightly, and though he is the stronger by far he could not break her gaze. He is rendered mute by this light inside of her.

"When you came to warn us in Denerim I saw your surprise that it was I that had survived. And though you'd never have admitted it, there was regret there. I thought, at first, that I had simply imagined it. but you gave me Howe. You told me where he was."

She pauses to chuckle at the shock he no longer bothers to hide. It is strange, inside that gaze all that he is, is laid bare.

"Perhaps not consciously. But you did make sure to tell me which estate he was running, and anyone with five silver can find any building here. You bellowed at me, called me impertinent for speaking out. But you respected me then."

He could not find fault with her words. Instead he was pulled along, driven to hear the point she was reaching.

"When we stood before the landsmeet I was reminded of how strong you were, of why I had admired you. You had thought to shoulder all the lands burdens alone. And when we fought you gave me honour by not holding back, by not treating me like some fragile daughter of a teryn who had only survived because she had others to do her fighting.

She swayed closer, her fingers flexing against his face.

"Do you remember how you looked at me after our battle? you were so shocked as I helped you up. I knew then that you hadn't hated me, it had nothing to do with me all this time. it had been about Ferelden, about keeping it safe. I couldn't let Alistair kill you after that."

Her voice turned soft, "then I got to know you Loghain. I listened to you speak and I watched you listen. And then you did the ritual with Morrigan, even though I know you didn't want to. Tell me why Loghain."

His answer is shocked and sharp, "I'm sure you already know why."

But she doesn't seem taken aback by his tone, instead the side of her mouth tugs upwards in a half smile, "Yes I do. but I want to hear you say it."

He let out a long breath, "because I…I owed you a life."

She sighs, but it isn't a mournful sound, "then why take that blow on top of Fort Drakon, you knew I would survive. Why risk it?"

He gives the only answer he can, compelled to speak the truth to those burning eyes, "because it would have been a bad time to be wrong."

Vanilla slides across his senses, her innate scent lingering in the air. the crimson of her hair caresses the sides of her face, pale skin framing those oh so expressive eyes. she lowers her hand and suddenly she is hugging him, her form carefully resting against his. It seems instinctive to lift his arms and wrap them around her. and when he does it seems right, as if she fit perfectly into that space. But all of those thoughts are blown out of his mind when she raises her head and captures him with her gaze once more, "I forgive you Loghain."

With her simple soft words, a weight he had borne since learning the Cousland fate lightened. He does not know how to thank her, no words will form the depth of his gratitude. But without even a sound from him she smiles a wicked smile, "You're trying to think up how to thank me…aren't you?"

She pulls back to better see his face, after a moment he nods once and her grin widens slightly, "Well you could always kiss me again. That seemed to work last time."

He is stunned, and for a moment he does not move. Her face turns shy and she pulls away lowering her head and breaking his gaze, "I mean…if you wanted to."


	8. Chapter 8

The vulnerability in her tone cuts him, freeing him from the strange paralysis he had succumbed to. He moved forward, hands lifting and cradling her face before she could retreat too far. He leans in and brushes her lips with his. when he pulls back, her face is radiant. Though her eyes are closed and her smile small, he cannot help but think of how content she looks.

She opens her eyes, blinking languorously a few times as if to clear them. the smile she beams at him shares a little of that warmth. and he wants more. Her light is intoxicating, and he is a man who has drowned in darkness. She steps towards him, stepping back into the circle of his arms, "I'm not feeling thoroughly thanked yet."

And while the tone seems almost order like, he knows she would not force him. and he smiles, he wants to continue, but he has to ask her, has to be sure, "I am older than you, by more than a few years. There are many other men who vie for your favour, all of whom would be better suited to you."

Her fingers sink into his shirt and pull him closer still, "I don't want them. and besides, we're grey wardens. Twenty years if we're lucky then we're both dead. Age isn't really a concern here."

He should go. He should leave because he doesn't deserve her, doesn't deserve her forgiveness. But Maker help him, he wanted it. And he surrendered to her questing hands and sealed his mouth over hers, losing himself in the touch and taste of this woman.

Later. Much , Much later thanks to grey warden stamina, she dozes beside him. he stares up at the green canopy above him, thinking on what he has taken from this angel. What she has brought into his underserving life. she should have killed him, should have cast him down and yet…somehow…for some reason, she had reached into the dark cocoon of duty and blinding hate for orlesian painted lords and pulled him above water.

He used to wonder if she would ever forgive him. Now he knows that she has. But he knows that he will spend this day and every day after making sure he deserves it.

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_Authors note: Thank you guys for coming with me on this little journey :) i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it :D_

_Ta ta for now,_

_Madam Red_


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